Tuesday, March 24, 2015

"Mouthballers" had largely absconded this day's training session. Eight of us real aspiring footballers were in attendance. Mouthballers are those teammates who boss others around and complain much more than they eventually play. We were more concerned with ball being played than with arguing with the ceremonial referee's contentious decisions - what does he know? Is he not comfortably seated outside the playing area and declaring his opinions on infractions from far away? Just do what he says anyway and play ball. It was unfolding as the best training session we have ever had.

In the heat of the contest I received a pass on the right wing. With a simple sideways movement beat the defender and dribbled away from him. Just as I was clearing his space his knee struck mine and, alas, there was a sharp heavy impact between them, whence I keenly perceived a dislocation in my knee. I fell with a big shout.

The teammate with whom we suffered that delicate misfortune was genuinely sorry, his first instinct was to forget about the ball and turn towards me, closing in fast with outstretched palm and many expressions of regret. But I recoiled from contact and rolled away to protect the tender joint.

A quick thinking team mate convinced me to accept first-aid and he stretched the leg and bent affected knee back and forth a few times. The bones and muscles realigned properly yet not without some tense friction. But I could soon stand up and limp somewhat.

Thanks to adrenalin the wound seemed alright so that I foolishly completed that training session. Eventually hours later after my excitement level was depleted I felt that the knee was actually badly. It would require a long rest period.

Nothing saddens a footballer more than a long period off the pitch. Even the actual pain hurts less than the long compulsory rest. It always turns into a real test of patience.

Hence the title. I'm out for weeks (maybe months, but optimism is preferred) thanks to injury. Not off the society though. Off the pitch. This should release to me more than enough hours and head space.

Monday, March 9, 2015

One imagines, one believes, that in days past when one couldn't live without the other, that the love was spontaneous, unrehearsed; honest, unschooled by hurts; awkward, hence unfeigned; pure.

One remembers ideal love (or imagined it to have been thus before second thoughts came along): That the terrain was uncharted, pristine, wild, beautiful, perilous; so that one marveled and feared, as wonders and horrors from either's mind took colossal strides that shook your worlds; one held fast to one's own mutually vulnerable other, in turn was held close in pain or pleasure; one's collateral was one's own heart, one held nothing back

When one meets one's first other, one mumbles mundane weather updates; yet one imagines, one quietly fancies, wishfully, unjustifiably, that one knew the other perfectly first loved and was loved as none other ever will

Because when that perfect chapter ended both devoted the rest of their lives to protecting themselves from losing it again by never finding it

Friday, March 6, 2015

When couples commit themselves to counseling, it must be a drudge at first. I can picture each of them - the man in particular - fidgety, filled with reservations, apprehensive and downright suspicious towards the counselor.All these are manifest in his guarded answers, clipped phrases, hostile staring and crossed arms.

Lastly however the blame games his wife enthusiastically initiates with the counselor gradually draw him out of his shell. Finger-pointing Olympics begin in full earnest as he strives to apportion her just share of the train-wreck at hand.

I myself are many light years away from understanding married life, but stick with me. The example illustrates how when you first make a pledge or a resolution, the first few instances of complying with it rely on sheer will power to overcome self-generated resistance.

All this beating around the bush is to explain to you dear readers how comes last month's pledge to regularly update the blog is faring badly. It still feels like the first few sessions marriage counseling. By the time it comes to that, you know you're in hot water.

The first days of blogging, when one sets out, are like the beginning of courtship - thrilling for their uncertainty and unbounded possibilities.One puts one's best foot forward, one revels in the partner's lively qualities. But the years, they come; familiar routines sear themselves into one's mind, until one is thinking three steps ahead of their partner's next move. Unconsciously.

Suddenly, one humdrum day, one wakes up with a cold sweat on one's forehead, facing mid-life crisis and existential doubt.

Is this it?

As always, there's a lot I could (should!) report to you people from the end-times front. Of course. And then time and means must be allocated to encrypt selected episodes from my personal life. It just seems I'm much busier elsewhere lately, with few results to show for it, somehow.

Enough of that. I would now like to turn the spotlight on my fellow bloggers, who have largely gone quiet. It's a deterioration of literature from my point of view, and I'm holding them (you?) responsible for this literary Dark Ages that's started afresh. Sins of omission and that kind of thing. Missing in Action. Downed tools. Deleted blogs. A writer who doesn't write does not deserve the title.

Look who's talking.

If your failure to blog can be paralleled with unwillingness to attend marital counseling, let's brainstorm.

About this blog

The time is at hand! Truth from the heart. Partly online journal, partly social commentary, occasionally going off on political tangents, with a smattering of economic terms. Learning at the Lord's feet, closely watching the final chapters of the Great Controversy.